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Sharing Regrets

My sister-in-law, Laura, writes a popular blog that encompasses everything from makeup to motherhood to mental health. In addition to writing her blog, she hosts a Facebook page dedicated to it and also presents at blogging events around the country. Last week she asked me if I would be interested in sharing my writing in her space. My gut reaction was, “Heck no. I am the world’s laziest writer. My writing is not polished. Even if there is a typo or grammatical mistake in a post, I rarely go back in and edit it.”

However, later that night, I wrote something to post here but instead sent it to her. I decided that even if my words impacted only one person in her audience then it would be worth it. In order to provide some necessary background information, Laura wrote an introduction and then shared the entire thing on her blog.

(I have included the part that I wrote below.)

By the time I crawl into bed, he has already been there for several hours of restless sleep. I am quiet and careful as I hunker down and let my pillow and mattress absorb the weightiness of the day. In the darkest dark I listen to him breath, and I wait. He will reach for my hand and tell me he loves me – a brief connection that will happen several times during the night.

As he drifts back to sleep, I will reflect on events of the day; the kids, work, changes. Regrets. He has been sharing these lately.

“I feel like I have let down the team.” I have tried to talk about this to friends. I want to say that it’s crazy. That he has fought for almost three years and put himself through hell to try to beat this. But I can never get the thought out before the tears come.

“I wish I had gone on them sooner.” He’s referring to Zoloft. For much of his life he has battled some pretty significant mood swings. When living with cancer added a heaping pile of stress to his plate, he agreed to give it a try. I reassure him that I am glad that he went on them when he did as it has made him much happier.

“I hate that the kids have to go through this.” This one makes me catch my breath. But we have come a pretty long way. We used to talk about how hard it will be on the kids when he is no longer here. Now we talk about them being resilient and what we can do to help them on their journeys. He reminds me that it will be my job to tell them that it is okay to be sad, to cry, to feel crappy but that they also have to leave room for happiness to come in too.

Yesterday, as we were leaving the doctor’s office, he said, “I don’t know what I would do without you.” And I thought, “Me too”.

I found this different style just as moving as the style in your own blog, which means I was crying into my coffee as usual. At the same time it made me appreciate your style — very real, almost gritty. Fitting, considering the topics and emotions you touch on.

Your conversation about the kids really struck me. Since we all process things through the lens of our own experience, your posts about the children always stand out for me. Especially Parker, since I was her age when my dad was battling throat cancer. It seems to me like you both are doing it right with them. You’re right, they’re resilient. You are too.

Beautifully expressed, Robyn. On the page and in real life. you don’t need my approval..what do I know?….but your wisdom never ceases to amaze me. You and Dave are doing a remarkable job of navigating this minefield.

Heartfelt, poignant, intuitive, sensitive….are just a few words that come to mind. First, I’m grateful for the community Dave built at Hayfield. Your writing style easily draws in the reader….”if prayers were grains of sand …we would be sitting in the middle of an enormous beach.” It isn’t flamboyant…no editing necessary and good writing doesn’t always follow prescribed rules. Thanks for sharing your heart, soul, and journey. Please don’t underestimate your writing.. Perhaps, someday you’ll publish. Sending many, many prayers.

Robyn I have never followed a blog before. Frankly, I just don’t spend my free time on the computer other than email. I found out about your blog only recently and have been reading it backwards so to speak. Your style of writing is real, compelling and raw with emotion. You tell it like it is, which is a quality I highly admire. I love that about Dave as well. We all know he is fun, full of spirit and pride but he also, in his words likes to be “transparent.” Though I only met you once at the Bingo at HSS, (I still laugh thinking about Dave dropping the Bingo balls all over the floor in the middle of the game, while the “serious” Bingo players looked on in horror.) I found you to be the same way. A quick comment on the regrets…we all have them. I think that is just human nature. However, if the part about “team” is referring to Hayfield SS, there should be no regrets. In all the feelings I have had associated with Dave, before and after his diagnosis, feeling ‘let down” is NOT one of them!

those bingo games were fun! and dave’s puns were sometimes funny. : ) dave feels proud of what he accomplished at HSS but also feels like he didn’t get to complete the mission. but the foundation is there. and the people are there. so i know all will be okay. thank you for your kind comments and for checking in. xo

Dave should be so proud. You used the word foundation. I used that very word yesterday when speaking about Dave and all he has accomplished. He laid the foundation for improvements and continued success for his staff, students and the entire HSS community. Now it is up to us to build upon it and we will. He really has the gift to motivate people in just the right way.

I want to send a word of encouragement to you and your family and thank you for sharing your story. You’ve touched my life with your honest reflections. I hope that it is some small comfort to know that there is a community you’ve never met that care and are praying for you.